Mr. Van Pycke looked his son over very carefully. A pained expression came into his face.
"Bosworth, I am sorry to see you in this condition. It grieves me beyond measure. You have never—"
"It's an awful night, isn't it, dad? Can't I give you a lift in my taxicab? I see you've got on your overcoat and hat." Bosworth was moving toward the clubhouse entrance. The old gentleman resolutely kept pace with him.
"That's just what I meant to ask you," said he, with some celerity. "I—I can't get a cab of any sort for love or money. It's generous—"
"You can't get much of anything for love in these days, dad, except love."
Mr. Van Pycke pondered this while Bosworth got into his coat and hat.
"I am very sorry to see you intox—"
"Dad, I 'm celebrating," said his son, halting just inside the door.
"Celebrating what?"
"My approaching marriage, sir."